


Impossible Forgiveness

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Urban Fantasy [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Ghost Keith (Voltron), Give it a chance its not as sad as I expected it to be, Human everyone else, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's actually surprisingly comedic, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: The apartment is haunted, and Lance is about to find out the hard way that ghosts are most definitely real.





	Impossible Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first real attempt at writing Lance POV so please go easy on me he's not my usual kind of character.

The apartment was haunted. At least, that’s what every single past tenant had said just before packing up and moving out. Even the most hardcore skeptics, the ones who laughed and mocked when the landlord tried to warn them, packed up and left in a hurry within 2 months. 

The complaints varied. Some said they heard footsteps, pacing around and around and around. Others said the ghost threw things across the rooms, occasionally at them. A few of them heard shouting but couldn’t make out the words. One or two even claimed to have seen blood staining the bathtub in the only bathroom. 

The landlord believed in the ghost, definitely. He’d been around long enough to remember why it was, though the law no longer required him to reveal it to possible tenants. For awhile he’d rolled with it, trying to keep it rented out so he wouldn’t lose money on it. But he’d given up on it a few years back. No one would rent it for long anyway, and the ghost had been getting more and more violent by the year. It was only matter of time before it hurt someone.

That’s why he tried to talk the kid out of it when he came asking. But he’d just given Coran an easy smile. 

“I’m a college kid, bro.” he’d said. “This is the cheapest apartment in the city, and it’s the only one I can afford. It could have the entire population of Roanoke haunting it, and I’d still take it.”

So Coran rented it to him, reluctantly, and mentally started a countdown for how long he’d stay before the ghost scared him off, too.

* * *

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait. He told you it was haunted and you took it  _ anyway?! _ ”

Lance laughed at his best friends reaction to his story. Hunk was scrunched into the passenger seat of his teeny tiny car, wringing his large hands in his lap, brown eyes looking at him in a mixture of concern and astonishment. 

“It’s not  _ actually  _ haunted, Hunk.” he said between chuckles. “The landlord’s just a little cooky is all.”

“Yeah, you say that, until shit starts flying around your kitchen!” 

Pidge reached up from the backseat and yanked on Hunk’s orange headband to get his attention. Poor Katie, being so much smaller than either of the boys, had been condemned to sit squished between cardboard boxes the whole ride to Lance’s new place. 

“There’s no scientific evidence to support the existence of ghosts.” she said, and Lance glanced into the rearview mirror to see her adjusting her glasses in a habit she’d learned from her older brother. 

Hunk tried to pull his head away and wound up bumping it against the ceiling as Lance turned the car into the apartment parking lot.

“Science can’t explain everything, Pidge.” he grumbled, rubbing the bump. “And I for one don’t want to get shanked by an angry spirit.”

“No one’s getting shanked in my apartment.” Lance chided, only wincing a little when the car made that rattling sound when the engine turned off. “I’ll lose my security deposit if your blood stains the carpet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the ghost cares so much about your security deposit.”

“There’s no ghost, Hunk.” snapped Pidge as she struggled to free herself from her cardboard prison. “But there will be if one of you don’t help me out of here.”

Hunk helped her out, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, and set her down on the cracked pavement next to the vehicle. She looked up at the apartment building and made a face.

“Please tell me your apartment is on the first floor?”

“No, sorry.” Lance said wryly, already starting to pull boxes out of the back seat. “It’s on the fourth. And this place doesn’t have an elevator.”

“Yeah, nope, I’ll just get started on setting up your Wi-Fi if you don’t mind. Keys?”

Lance fished them from the pocket of his jeans and tossed the ring to her. 

“Number 424. At the end of the hall.”

Pidge gave him a cheeky salute and rushed off, closely cropped auburn hair bouncing around her ears. Lance and Hunk hauled the boxes up one by one before returning for the planks of wood that made up his furniture. By the time they returned with the final piece-- jackets off and drenched in sweat-- Pidge was perched atop a mountain of boxes as she fiddled with Wi-Fi settings. 

“Ok,” mumbled Lance, half to himself, “Kitchen first.” He went to the living room, retrieved the correctly marked box, and returned to the small kitchen. 

The apartment wasn't the best in the world. The whole thing was floored with cheap fake hardwood, the countertops were dusty and cracked in the corners, and the whole kitchen/living room area was barely big enough to hold the three of them. The doors to both the bathroom and the bedroom were tucked in a tiny alcove on the right end of the living room. But honestly the fact he’d been able to find an apartment anywhere close to campus was a blessing, so he wasn’t complaining too much. 

“I’m gonna go start putting your bed together.” said Hunk as he set the box on a counter. Lance shot him a grateful smile and went back to Pidge to get his keys (so he could open the boxes since his knives were packed). When he returned to the kitchen for a second time, the box he’d just put down was on the floor in the center of the room.

He frowned down at it for a moment. 

“Hunk? Did you move my box?”

“Oh no!” Hunk exclaimed immediately. “You are not starting this already! Pretend the apartments haunted, scare Hunk, ha ha, but I’m not falling for it! Not this time!”

“Dude, buddy, chill.” Lance responded, rolling his eyes. “I just asked about a box, jeez.”

Aside from that little kerfuffle, they made good time, and by midnight all of the furniture was assembled and almost all of the boxes were unpacked. Lance drove the two of them home at one AM and then returned to his new place,  content and confident about his choice. 

The next few weeks would challenge that feeling.

* * *

The first emotion he felt when he heard a key in the lock was irritation. It had been awhile since anyone had been in here, and he’d thought Coran had finally given up on trying to rent this apartment. Guess not.

He watched grumpily from the bathroom as a young, bespeckled girl entered and immediately began hooking something up to the wall. A few minutes later two more people had joined her, both carrying boxes. He moved into the living room, sat cross legged on the floor, and watched some more as the boys continued hauling boxes into the room. From listening to their conversation, he gathered that the skinnier boy was the only one actually living there, which made things easier for him. Being trapped in an empty apartment was one thing, but being trapped in an apartment other people lived in while constantly ignoring your existence was a whole other torturous can of worms. 

He didn’t screw with them too much that first day, despite his annoyance at dealing with yet another clueless tenant. He moved a box, but that was it. He’d have plenty of time to scare him off later.

The first night he stood at the foot of the new tenants bed and inspected him. Young, probably college age. Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes when they were open. He slept fairly restlessly, rolling this way and that and never seeming to decide if he wanted the blanket over him or not. 

The furniture he’d brought was cheap, worn, and frankly ugly. A poor college kid would be harder to drive out than a middle class working couple, but still doable. And he was going to drive him out, no matter how hard he had to try.

It’d become a game, at this point. At first he’d been angry, so angry, at himself and at being stuck here and at everybody going around ignoring him. He’d lashed out because of that rage. But now it was just a game. How long would it take him to scare people away? How far would he have to go? 

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at this new tenant. His friends had called him Lance.

_ Well, nice to meet you Lance. Game on. _

* * *

The first few days were quiet, and Lance was confident that Coran was in fact just a little crazy. And of course that would be the case. Ghosts aren't real. 

Then things started to get… weird. 

It was little things at first. His keys or his shoes wouldn’t be where he left them. His bedroom door would be open in the morning when he could have sworn he closed it. A burst of chill giving him momentary goosebumps and then dissipating. A mug or two broke when he put them down in the center of the counter. He dismissed all of these things as tricks of memory or accidents, not even remembering what Coran had said about a haunting. 

Then, two weeks after he moved in, he woke up at 3 am to the sound of footsteps. 

He sat bolt upright in bed, listening intently and his heart hammering away behind his ribcage. Just outside his bedroom door, there were three distinct steps.

_ Thump. _

_ Thump. _

_ Thump. _

Then everything went quiet.

Lance sat there for almost five minutes, listening, and didn’t hear anything else. He finally got his courage back and did a sweep of the tiny apartment. He and his nerves were the only ones there. 

The next night it happened again. And the next. And the next. By the end of the week he was lying in bed in the middle of the night listening to  _ something  _ walking up and down the hall for up to ten minutes at a time before quieting again. During the day the little things would continue. 

He still stubbornly refused to consider the possibility of a ghost.

_ The place is old,  _ he reasoned to himself,  _ old places always make weird noises.  _

Exactly one month after he moved in, he came home from class to find all of his kitchen cupboards wide open. 

“No.” he said out loud, staring wide eyed at kitchen. “No, no no no,  _ hell  _ no, my apartment is not haunted. Nope. Not possible, not even entertaining the possibility,  _ no. _ ”

One of the cupboards slammed shut in response. 

He dropped his backpack to the floor, closed all of his cupboards, and retreated to his bedroom. That night the footsteps lasted nearly an hour. 

From then on the ghost ramped up his game. Every day when he came home something different would be waiting for him. A pyramid of mugs. Every single article of clothing he owned stacked on the living room floor. All of the furniture moved three inches to the left.

Lance refused to give in. Pale and tight-lipped, he’d gather his things and put them back where they belonged, no matter how long it took him. The footsteps got worse and worse, and then the ghost switched to banging on his bedroom door instead. His sleep started to suffer, but he still refused to break. His apartment wasn’t haunted. It. Wasn’t. 

It was on the morning of month two when he heard the ghost speak for the first time. It was barely a murmur, a whisper in his ear while he brushed his teeth. 

_ “You’re one persistent asshole.”  _

Lance got ready for school, left the apartment, and texted Hunk.

Ok, I think my apartment is actually haunted. And the ghost called me an asshole.

His phone vibrated with a response barely a moment later. 

**Are you sure that isn’t Pidge astral projecting into your subconscious?**

Lance let the topic die and didn’t bring it up again. 

* * *

This idiot was driving him  _ crazy _ . Two months in, long past when most people would have fled, and he was still here. He was obviously exhausted and low key about to lose it, but the dumbass just refused to leave the apartment. 

_ WHY?! _

He used the last few tricks in his arsenal, the ones that had scared even that astrophysicist and his wife out. He started throwing things across rooms, resulting in four broken mugs and several holes in the drywall. Lance just made some wry remarks about his security deposit and moved on. He even broke out the blood-in-the-bathtub trick, but Lance just made a face, cleaned it up, and went on with his day.

It made no fucking sense whatsoever.

_ What is it gonna take to make you leave? _

* * *

“Come on, Shiroooooo.” Lance whined into the phone as he drove home. Yes yes, talking and driving and all that, whatever. He’s here for a good time not a long time. “You never got to see my new place.”

“Sorry, Lance, but I’m busy.” Shiro didn’t sound sorry. He sounded nervous.

“You’ve been awfully busy lately.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Lance pouted, more than well aware Shiro couldn’t see him. Shiro was older than him and Hunk and Pidge, but he’d been friends with her older brother for ages and once they’d started attending the same college as him he’d been pretty much forced to become friends with them, as well. For the last two years he didn’t seem to mind, until the last few months when he’d become rather skittish. Lance couldn’t figure it out. The only thing that he could think of was something to do with his new apartment, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would Shiro-- big, strong, calm-cool-and-collected Shiro-- be afraid of his apartment?

“Alright.” he grumbled at last. “Will you be at Pidge’s for movie night, at least?”

“Yeah, I will. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Alright, Lance.”

He was already kind of wrung out from that conversation and the rest of his day, so when he stepped through the front door and immediately had to dodge a flying plate, he lost it just a little bit. 

“Enough!” he shouted into his seemingly empty apartment, throwing his backpack to the floor. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I have had a really,  _ really  _ fucking long day, so if you could lay off your stupid ghost bullshit for two seconds, that would be  _ great. _ ”

There was silence, a strange sort of tension trembling in the air. Lance waited for another flying piece of china, but none came, and he dropped to collect the broken glass with a sigh. Then he immediately dropped it again and leapt back with a yelp. The ghost was actually in front of him. 

At least, he assumed from the guy’s slight transparency that he was the ghost-- he could see the outline of his couch through his stomach. 

He didn’t look like your typical idea of a ghost; not a elderly man covered in blood or a weeping woman in a white dress. Instead he looked like a teenager with pale skin and a thin face, thick black hair tumbling around his neck and over his eyes. His mouth was twisted into a scowl, his arms clad in a red and white jacket crossed over his chest, a black t-shirt and jeans underneath. Sure, the jacket made him look a little odd, but he was clearly from this century. 

Lance sucked in a fast breath and scooted back on his ass until his back pressed against the front door.

“What the hell.” He breathed. The ghost seemed to falter, looked down at himself, glanced around. As though he didn’t know what Lance was looking at. 

_ My apartment actually is haunted holy fuck holy fuck holy- _

“Are you--” the ghost started to say, and then cut himself off and cleared his throat. His voice was soft and echoed a little, but Lance could still make out what he was saying. “Are you looking at me?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lance stammered. “What else would I be looking at?”

The ghosts eyes widened comically. Lance couldn’t tell what color they were. 

“You can hear me?”

“Yeah.” Lance drew his knees to his chest, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the ghost. He looked harmless enough when he was surprised, but he  _ had  _ just chucked a plate at him. Better safe than sorry. “Heard you call me an asshole, too.”

The ghost bit his lip. He actually bit. His. Lip. The ghost. What the fuck. 

“What are you doing here?” he tried asking. The ghost gave him a sharp look.

“What does it look like? Haunting you, jackass.”

Well, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. 

“But why? I haven’t done anything to you.”

His expression returned to his angry scowl. 

“It’s the afterlife. Don’t really have anything better to do.”

“Ok, ok, ok.” Lance took a deep breath and slowly got back to his feet, feeling the ghost’s eyes following him. “Let’s just start over. What’s your name?”

The ghosts scowl twitched, and his brows unfurrowed just the slightest bit. 

“Keith.” he grumbled out, scuffing his boot against the floor. 

Lance, honestly, was floored. When Coran told him the place was haunted he’d pictured some kind of Victorian person, a child maybe, named William or Mary. Not some teenager named Keith who looked like he could be his age. 

“Ok, and why are you haunting the apartment?”

“I died here, obviously.” he snapped. “Why are you still here? Most people would’ve left by now.”

Lance gave a rueful shrug. “I’m broke.” he admitted. “It’s the only place I can afford. Guess I’ve got you to thank for that.” 

Keith, God help Lance, almost looked guilty. His arms dropped from their defensive position and hung at his sides, and Lance noticed for the first time he was wearing fingerless gloves. 

“Oh.” was all he said. 

“Yeah, so could you maybe lay off on the throwing and the blood? Please?”

“Oh.” he said again, blinking as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him, “Yeah, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and an awkward silence descended between the two of them.

God, could this situation get any more weird? Lance had a ghost in his apartment and now they were being freaking awkward?? Hell no.

“So… why were you trying to kick me out? Aren’t you lonely when this place is empty?”

Keith frowned, but it wasn’t another scowl, so Lance counted it as a success. 

“You’re the first person who’s been able to see me since I died. Do you know how maddening it is to have people around all the time when none of them will talk to you or look at you or even acknowledge your existence? I prefer to be alone.”

Well  _ that  _ certainly gave Lance something to think about. 

“Yeah, you have a point.” said Lance. “But I won’t ignore you, ok? So instead of spending all of your time wrecking my shit, you can like… I don’t know, read a book or something. I have an X-Box you can use. Do you know how to use an X-Box?”

“Yes.” Keith said, once again snapping. Lance wondered if snapping was a defense mechanism for him. “I didn’t die that long ago… apparently.”

Lance tilted his head. “When did you die?”

“What year is it?”

“Uh… 2018?”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Really? Only seven years?”

“How long did you think it was?” Lance asked, baffled. Keith shrugged in response. 

“No idea. It all kind of blends together when you can’t sleep or eat or leave or feel anything at all, really.”

“Damn, that’s hella depressing.”

“Well, I  _ am  _ dead.”

“Point.”

Lance sighed and rolled his shoulders. He was still tired, and this whole episode hadn’t exactly improved his day. 

“Ok, this doesn’t have to be weird.” he muttered, half to himself. “It’ll be like having a roommate. Without having to pay the extra money for food or generating any more dishes than usual. The easiest roommate ever.”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith answered with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

“I--” Lance interrupted loudly, “am going to take a nap. You,” he flapped a hand at the ghost, “go play on the console.”

Keith rolled his eyes again, but did as he told, and Lance went to his bedroom for the longest nap of his goddamn life. 

* * *

Lance was horrendously, horrendously confused when he awoke to sunlight in his eyes. He sat up, still in his jeans and jacket and even his shoes, and blinked blearily at his phone. 

9:03 AM.

_ What the fuck? _

Still fairly woozy, he got to his feet and followed the sound of gunfire into the living room. Keith the ghost was sitting cross legged on the couch, eyes narrowed in concentration as he machine gunned his way through the last few stages of  _ Tomb Raider _ . The light coming through the windows went right through him, making him look hazy and barely there. 

_ So this is what he’s been doing while I slept for 18 hours what the fuck- _ -

His mouth spoke without his brain’s permission. 

“Did you play all night?”

Keith glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the screen, attention completely held by the game.

“I don’t need to sleep, remember?”

“Right. Yeah. I didn’t think the game was this long.”

“I’m going for 100 percent completion.”

“Oh.”

Keith paused the game and peered at the cheap target clock Lance had hung on the wall.

“Don’t you have class?”

Lance blinked slowly at him and looked down at his phone again. Then he blinked for a second time. 

“Fuck!”

And Keith actually goddamned laughed at him when he ran back to his room to change. On his way out the door, he texted Hunk again.

Update on the ghost: he’s kind of a dick.

**Aren’t most ghosts?**

I’ve actually never thought about it. 

**Lance it’s too early.**

I slept for 18 hours.

**… Did the ghost put you in a coma?**

Idk but I gotta drive bye

Logically, Lance knew Hunk didn’t actually believe him about Keith. And that was fine. He wasn’t about to try and convince his friends the ghost was real; they’d probably think he was crazy. He was content to let Keith remain the group meme-- no drama required. 

Yeah… like that would ever happen. 

* * *

Living with a ghost was… interesting, to say the least. Good thing utilities were covered by the landlord, because Keith spent most of his time on Lance’s X-Box, beating every game Lance owned. Which, he had to admit, was a step up from building pyramids out of his furniture.

Despite that improvement, most days Lance still came home to something flying at his face. It wasn’t dishes anymore, or anything that could hurt him, really. It was always little things; a jacket, or his spare keys. After awhile he put two and two together.

Keith threw things when he was lonely-- to get Lance’s attention. Well, that was easily remedied. Lance loved to talk; he had no problem chattering away about everything and nothing. Keith didn’t interject often, but when he did it as something teasing. Their conversation was never too serious-- like new friends who didn’t want to scare each other off with their respective drama. 

Another thing-- he couldn’t be touched. Lance found that out the hard way when he tried to clap Keith on the shoulder and went right through, nearly face planting into the floor while feeling like he’d been doused in cold water. Keith laughed at him. But Lance got his revenge.

As it turned out, it required concentration on Keith’s part to remain solid enough to interact with objects. He’d gotten pretty good at it after seven years, but Lance discovered a work around when he came home early one day. 

He found Keith sitting cross-legged on his bed, flipping through one of his textbooks. He watched for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, before he spoke up.

“I have some more interesting books, you know.”

Keith jolted violently, and then went incorporeal and dropped through the bed. 

Lance burst out laughing as Keith slunk out of the piece of furniture wearing a mollified expression. 

“It’s not that funny.” he muttered while Lance struggled to get control over himself. 

“You… fuck…”

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

Keith crossed his arms and made a grumpy face. With difficulty Lance got his laughter to subside. 

“Why were you reading a textbook anyway?”

Keith shuffled his feet a little, looking guilty for a reason Lance couldn’t discern. 

“You have the same major I did.” he mumbled, looking down. “But the books are different.”

That was the first time Keith said something about his life, and the only time for a while afterwards. He didn’t like to talk about it, that wasn’t hard to see, and Lance could respect that.

He had much less sympathy when Keith fucked with him while Hunk and Pidge were over. They couldn’t see or hear him, and Keith abused the hell out of that fact. He’d steal Lance’s pens while they were doing homework, forcing Lance to waste time hunting for them while Keith sat in the corner and cackled. 

Sometimes he’d hide his car keys, watch him look for them, and then he’d turn around and they’d be right there, with Keith standing behind them wearing a cat-like smirk. 

Once he did this and Lance made the mistake of speaking to him.

“Would you knock it off?” he’d growled, and then all three of them had gone still. After a long moment of tense silence, Pidge had elbowed him. 

“Quit talking to your ghost.” she’d teased, and the easy atmosphere returned. 

For her and Hunk, Keith was a joke. Something they could safely tease Lance about without hurting anyone’s feelings-- as far as they knew.

“I have a name.” Keith had said one day after Hunk had joked about “the ghost”. Lance flicked his eyes to where Keith was lurking in the corner of the room. He was tempted to dismiss the comment, but there was something underneath Keith’s usual scowl, something genuine. 

“I gave the ghost a name.” he said as casually as he could. 

“Why?” asked Pidge, not really paying attention as she worked on her essay. 

“It’s kinda rude to just call him ‘the ghost’ all the time. And I don’t wanna get shanked.”

Off to the side, Keith scoffed.

“Ok.” Hunk sounded a little uneasy. “What did you name him?”

“Keith.”

“Weird name for a ghost.” said Pidge. Lance just shrugged and glanced back at Keith’s corner.

He was smiling.

* * *

Honestly, it was only a matter of time. Hunk and Pidge would figure out Keith was real eventually. Hunk already half believed, and Pidge was observant and naturally curious. Of course, it would have gone a little better if Keith hadn’t sprung it on them out of nowhere.

It was the beginning of December, four months after Lance had moved into the haunted apartment. More importantly, it was finals week. 

The living trio had been holed up in the living room all day while they studied, and Keith was getting restless. Lance could hear him pacing behind the couch; back and forth, back and forth. He wanted to snap at him, but he was tired, they were all tired, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with the inevitable jokes. 

The room had been quiet for a while, even Lance falling silent as he buried himself in his textbook. Keith, apparently, didn’t approve. He left off pacing and looped to stand in front of them. Lance tried his best to ignore him when Keith shot him an accusatory look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Keith clench his fists.

Pidge jumped when Keith powered on the X-Box. Lance gritted his teeth. All he wanted to do was pass this final and figure out if he could afford to go home for Christmas-- the last thing he needed was Keith throwing a ghostly hissy fit.

“Why did that turn on?” Hunk asked, nudging Lance’s knee. Lance carefully avoided looking at Keith.

“Probably nothing.” he said in a bored tone.

That was the wrong move.

Keith’s mouth twisted into a sneer, and then he knelt down and  _ flipped  _ the entire coffee table, sending Pidge’s books and highlighters flying. 

“What the fuck?” Pidge shrieked, throwing herself back and away. Hunk was frozen, staring at the table that had seemingly moved without cause. Lance felt unusual anger curl in his chest. He slammed his textbook shut and stood up, facing Keith and not even caring he was about to look batshit crazy. 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he yelled at the ghost, who crossed his arms over his chest in defense. “We are  _ trying  _ to  _ study _ .”

“Don’t fucking ignore me, asshole.” Keith snarled back.

“I’m busy! So sorry I can’t give you attention 24/7, princess!”

“You could at least look at me!” Keith said, picking up an X-Box controller and chucking it. Lance had gotten used to dodging his attacks by now, and it landed harmlessly on the couch, but the anger didn’t dissipate at all. 

“Lance!” Hunk squeaked, and both of them snapped around to look at him. He’d crammed his entire large frame into the corner of the couch, and he looked absolutely terrified. 

“Please stop pissing off your ghost.”

“I have a name!” Keith’s roar echoed through the apartment, and Hunk and Pidge visibly jumped, as though they’d heard him. Maybe they had.

“Lance.” whimpered Pidge, “Please tell me this is all an elaborate prank.”

Lance’s anger abandoned him. He deflated with a sigh, rubbing his forehead tiredly. 

“Do I look like I’m capable of pulling off an elaborate prank right now?”

“So… it’s true?” Hunk’s voice trembled when he spoke. “This place is really haunted?”

“What do you think?” Keith said snidely. Apparently Hunk didn’t hear that time, and didn’t react. Keith growled in frustration and kicked the wall, making Lance’s friends jump again. 

Lance dragged his hands over his face. 

“Keith, would you knock it off? Please?” he groaned. Keith glowered at him, but didn’t hit or throw anything else. 

“So… uh…” Hunk stammered.

Pidge straightened up, adjusting her glasses. “Oh, my god. This is amazing! Ghosts exist! The ghost is real!”

“I swear to god-” Keith began, and Lance jumped in.

“Pidge, can you lay off calling him that? He doesn’t like it.”

Pidge tilted her head at him. Her eyes gleamed. 

“You can hear him? All the time?”

“Yeah. I can see him too.”

“Really?!” she leapt to her feet, disregarding the mess of school supplies on the floor as she rushed forward. “All the time? But then why can’t we?”

“I don’t know!”

“Does the- does Keith?”

Lance glanced at him, and Keith shook his head, still glaring. 

“He doesn’t know either.”

“Oh my god. Ok. Ok. Oh my god.” She was practically vibrating in her excitement. “You guys stay here, don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back!” She ran for the front door, snatching up her car keys as she went, and a moment later was gone. 

Lance let out a heavy, heavy, heavy sigh and knelt to pick up the coffee table. Keith still looked angry, but started picking up the loose highlighters anyway. Hunk watched anxiously from the couch, all muscles tensed like he might make a run for it at any moment. 

“Sorry.” Keith muttered once everything was back in it’s correct place. He was wearing a guilty expression reminiscent of a scolded child. “I got mad.”

“It’s alright.” answered Lance. “I know you don’t like being ignored.”

“Is that why he was angry?” Hunk asked from the couch. Lance moved to sit next to him, still keeping an eye on Keith, who sulked in his corner.

“Yeah. He doesn’t like it when people act like he doesn’t exist. I was grumpy and did it on purpose.” 

“Would he… has he…” Hunk gulped and wrung his hands. “Is he dangerous?”

“Nah.” said Lance with a shake of his head. “Just irritating.”

Keith stuck his tongue out at Lance. Lance returned the favor, and Hunk gave a nervous chuckle. 

“Uh, buddy, no offense, but it’s a little weird to see you interacting with something I can’t see.”

“What do you want me to do, put a bell on him?”

“I’m not a cat!” Keith protested.

“No, but like, a hat? Or a jacket? Just so I know where he is?”

Lance blinked. 

“That… actually isn’t a bad idea.” He got to his feet and gestured for the ghost to follow. “Come on, Keith.”

He wound up giving him a grey hoodie that was too small for him, which Keith reluctantly pulled on over his own jacket. When they reemerged, Hunk didn’t look very reassured. 

“That certainly is a floating jacket.” he said weakly. Keith laughed.

* * *

When Pidge returned she was armed with a notebook, camera, tape recorder, and a weird box with lights on the end Lance didn’t recognize. She paused when she saw the floating hoodie, then beamed. 

“Great idea!”

“Pidge, what is all of this for?” Lance asked her, eyeing her backpack where she’d dropped it. 

“Research! Duh.”

“Uh, I don’t think-”

“It’s ok.” Keith interrupted, crossing his arms. Lance blinked in surprise, but eventually shrugged. 

“If you say so. Pidge, do your worst.”

Pidge started with the recorder. She stood in front of Keith and held up the little box. 

“Ok Keith.” she said, pressing the record button. “Say something.” 

Keith looked at Lance, looked at the recorder, and said, “This is fucking stupid.”

Lance smothered his giggle and nodded to Pidge, who stopped the recording and played it back.

_ “This is fucking stupid.”  _

The voice was staticky and garbled, but it was clearly there, and it was clearly Keith. Pidge snatched up her notebook and scribbled down some notes.

Thus began several hours of “research”. 

They discovered some new things during those hours. For one, Keith would appear in photographs. He was hazy and the camera could never figure out how to focus right on him, but Pidge was excited anyway. She took a few more voice recordings, and then produced her strange little box, which lit up red and beeped like crazy whenever she went near Keith.

She did so many different experiments Lance couldn’t even keep track of them all. Finally, around 1 am, she put all of her bits of technology away and returned to the living room wielding a whiteboard and some markers.

Keith, sitting cross-legged on the couch, perked up. Lance yawned. Hunk had retreated to Lance’s room to pass out a while ago. 

Pidge carefully passed the whiteboard to the gray hoodie floating over the couch before planting herself on the floor with her notebook. 

“I’m gonna ask you some questions.” she said, not a hint of fatigue in her voice. “You can answer on the whiteboard, ok?”

Her eyes followed his motions hungrily as Keith picked up a marker and wrote his answer on the board.

_ “Ok.” _

“Alright. What’s your full name?”

She had a camera set up behind her, recording, and Keith shot it an unsure glance before he picked up his marker again. 

_ “Keith Kogane.” _

“When did you die?”

_ “2011.” _

“How old were you?”

_ “18.” _

“How did you die?”

Keith’s face twisted into a scowl, and the marker squeaked when he scribbled out his answer. 

_ “None of your fucking business.” _

Pidge looked surprised, and Lance gave him a look.

“Keith, don’t be mean.”

Keith flipped him off.

“No, it’s ok.” said Pidge as she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I imagine it’s a touchy subject. I’m sorry.”

Keith didn’t write an answer, and after an awkward moment Pidge cleared her throat and steered the interview back to safer waters.

* * *

She left Lance’s at 5 am and rushed home, blood still singing with the high of discovery. 

Ghosts were actually real.

She couldn’t wait to tell Matt. 

Pidge didn’t bother smothering her footsteps when she entered her house. Her parents were early risers, and true to form her father was already at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee. She gave him a jaunty wave as she tripped up the stairs.

She went right to her older brothers bedroom, barely pausing long enough to knock before pushing her way inside. 

Matt was awake, sprawled across his bed with a fairy ring of textbooks and papers surrounding him. He’d probably never gone to sleep, judging by the dark bags under his eyes when he looked up at his sister. Pidge didn’t give him time to speak. 

“Matt, you will not believe what happened last night!” She rushed forward excitedly and shoved her brothers textbooks off of the bed. 

“Hey!” he cried in an affronted tone. “Pidge, I have a final today--”

“Do you remember what I told you about Lance’s apartment?”

Matt sat up. His face was doing something complicated, but Pidge was too busy digging things out of her backpack to notice. 

“Yeah, you said the landlord thought it was haunted.”

“It’s true. Holy shit, Matt, it’s actually true.”

“Hold on--”

She launched into the story of how Keith the ghost had flipped the coffee table and thrown a controller at Lance, so caught up in her excitement that she didn’t notice how he’d gone pale. 

“So obviously I had to run some experiments, test some hypotheses, and look he actually shows up in pictures even though we can’t see him!”

She shoved the camera into Matt’s shaking hands, the clearest picture of Keith she’d managed to get glowing on the display. He was a blur, off to the right of the image, but his face was clearly visible, locked in a vaguely surprised expression. 

Matt stared at the picture for a long, long time. Then, abruptly, he dropped the camera and stood up. 

“Matt?”

“This isn’t funny, Katie.” His voice shook, and it was only then Pidge noticed his change in demeanor. He was pale, trembling, hands clenched into fists and gazing at her with so much hurt she felt it in her chest. 

“What? I’m not--”

“It’s not funny!” She flinched back, startled. She couldn’t remember the last time Matt had shouted at her.

“Matt, Matt, I swear I’m not joking! I swear!” she stared up at him, beseeching. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this, you know I wouldn’t.”

Matt made some sort of a hiccuping sound. 

“Look, I have a video.” She reached for the camera. “I talked to him, just, please.” 

“You…” Matt stopped and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re not joking… are you?”

Pidge shook her head. “Just humor me. Please.”

Matt’s breath came out shaky. “Ok. Ok, fine.”

He reluctantly got back onto the bed, and Pidge pulled up the video of Keith’s interview. Matt didn’t react to the image of the floating hoodie and marker, and watched silently as Pidge’s voice echoed out of the tiny speakers. 

When the video was over, he bit his lip and sat back. “Ok, it’s… pretty convincing, I’ll give you that.” 

“Why did you get angry?” Pidge questioned in a soft voice. “I thought you’d be excited.”

“Sorry Pidge.” he sighed. He looked exhausted. “It’s just… I knew him.”

She tilted her head curiously. 

“You knew… the dead guy?”

Matt flinched and Pidge mentally smacked herself.

“I knew Keith.” he confirmed, gazing away into nothing. “Years ago. He was Shiro’s best friend.”

“Really?” Pidge responded, wide eyed. 

“Yeah. Do you remember a few years back-- you must’ve been ten or eleven, when Shiro started coming over here a lot more?”

Pidge nodded. Her memory was hazy, she hadn’t been paying much attention while going around her eleven year old business. But she did remember-- suddenly Shiro had been around more than usual, and at odd hours. And Matt had been quiet for awhile. 

“That was when Keith died, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He finally looked back at her with hard eyes. “Pidge, if what you’re saying is true, I have to see it for myself.”

“I’ll text Lance.”

* * *

_ Ugh. I really need to get some curtains for that window.  _

Lance blinked himself awake, the grogginess and tightness in his muscles telling him he’d slept in too late. He stretched, felt his joints pop, and then looked over at the door and nearly had a heart attack when he saw Keith standing there. 

“Jesus, give a guy some warning.” he groaned, flopping back against his pillow. 

“Sorry.” muttered Keith, scuffing his foot against the floor. He’d taken Lance’s hoodie off, leaving him as his normally transparent self.

“What’s up?” Lance asked, lazily stretching again. God, he’d been up so late. Good thing he didn’t have a final today. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Keith was grumbling, staring down at his shoes. “For scaring your friends.”

Lance flopped a hand at him. “Pidge is more excited than scared. Hunk will come around eventually, he’s just a big marshmallow.” 

Keith shuffled a few steps into the room. He was anxious, Lance was realizing. 

“Is Pidge going to tell people about me?” His brow furrowed as he frowned. “Am I gonna be an… experiment, or something?”

Lance sat up on his hands. “No, Keith, no. Pidge won’t do anything like that.”

Keith gave him the tiniest smile he’d ever seen in his life.

“Ok.”

Ghost successfully appeased, Lance reached over to check his phone and promptly felt his stomach drop through the floor. 

He had approximately 5 million text messages from Pidge. 

**Hey! So I may or may not have told Matt about Keith and he may or may not have known him when he was alive and may or may not now be hellbent on seeing him for himself.**

**So… can we come over?**

**Lance**

**Lance**

**LANCE**

**Fine we’re coming over at 2 whether you’re awake or not**

His eyes flicked up to look at the time. 

2:05 pm. 

“Aw, fuck.” he muttered, just as someone knocked on the front door. “Shit.”

“Lance? What’s wrong?” Keith sounded concerned, so Lance shot him a reassuring glance as he threw himself out of bed and bustled past him. He was still in his pajamas, but he figured neither of the Holts would care, being concerned with ogling the ghost and everything. 

When Lance opened the door he was greeted by Matt’s strained smile. He returned it and stepped aside to let them in. From behind him came a strangled gasp.

“Matt?” That was Keith’s voice, small and uncertain. 

Matt’s eyes bounced around the apartment, as though he was expecting Keith to come melting out of the wall or something. For his part, Keith didn’t give any indication he existed. He just hovered in the middle of the living room, looking struck and unsure and a little lost. 

Pidge glanced around the room before pulling her backpack off her shoulder. 

“Hey, Keith.” she said softly to the empty air. “I brought the whiteboard again, so you can talk to Matt. He said he knows you.” 

She set it on the counter along with a red marker, which Keith gave a long look before moving forward hesitantly. Matt jumped when he picked it up, staring with wide eyes as it floated in midair. 

Lance was the only one who saw Keith’s face when he paused again. He looked scared. He reached out and grabbed Pidge by the shoulder.

“Let’s give them some privacy.” he murmured to her before leading her off to his bedroom, leaving her brother to chat with his dead friend.

Totally normal afternoon for everybody.

* * *

“Keith?” Matt’s voice was hesitant when he spoke, watching the whiteboard that was somehow floating in front of him. 

_ Wow, ok, maybe Pidge was right. _

The marker uncapped itself. An answer was written.

_ “Hey, Matt.” _

Matt’s whole world spun. 

“Is that really you, Keith?”

_ “Yeah, it’s me.” _

He had to make his way into the living room and sit down before he passed out on Lance’s floor. The whiteboard floated after him.

“Jesus Christ. Ok, um…” he had no idea what to say. “Have you been here the whole time?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Fuck.”

_ “How eloquent.” _

Matt couldn’t laugh.

“Can I-- why is Lance the only one who can see you?”

_ “I don’t know. He didn’t at first either, it took him two months before it happened.” _

Keith’s handwriting was exactly as terrible as he remembered. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I just… I still can’t believe it’s you.”

_ “I missed you too.” _

Matt’s eyes filled with tears, and the whiteboard frantically erased itself.

_ “No, don’t cry!” _

He let out a choked laugh. “Keith, I just found out ghosts are real and one of them is someone I was friends with. Why wouldn’t I cry?”

_ “You know I don’t know how to deal with crying!” _

“Yeah, you really don’t.” He hesitated a moment, then reached out a hand towards the board. “Can I?”

There was another pause, then Matt felt a chill rush through his arm, and he yanked it back. The marker rose and wrote another message on the board.

_ “That’s what happens if I touch people.” _

Matt hummed his understanding. “Well, it’s certainly… refreshing.”

The board bobbed, as though Keith were laughing, and Matt’s heart hurt. If he took a picture right then, would he have looked the same as when he was alive? 

“Keith, Shiro and I, we’ve missed you. So much.”

The marker wrote slower this time.

_ “How is Shiro?” _

Matt smiled. 

“He’s good. He wasn’t for a long time, but he is now. Went through the five steps and everything. He’s happy.”

_ “Are you?” _

“Yeah, I am.”

_ “Good.” _

“Do you know why you’re still stuck here? Instead of moving on or whatever?”

_ “I’ve got no idea.” _

“Do you like being here still?”

_ “No, I can’t feel anything or sleep or eat or do much in general.” _

“So I guess the next step is figuring that out.”

_ “Matt?” _

“Yeah?”

_ “It was good to see you again.” _

“You know, I wish I could say the same.” His voice was teasing, and the board bobbed. 

* * *

This was ridiculous. He knew that. It had been five months, nearly half a year, since Lance had rented Keith’s old apartment, and Shiro still hadn’t set foot within five miles of the place. It was stupid, it was just an apartment, just a series of rooms. Nothing in there would be his, he’d made sure to get all of Keith’s old things out of there after the funeral. 

But he was still scared, and he had no idea  _ why _ .

Well, not anymore. 

He was going to go over there, today, right now, and settle this once and for all. 

It had been seven years.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

* * *

After finding out about Keith, Matt started hanging out at Lance’s a lot more. The tiny place was starting to get a little cozy with so many people, but at least one of them was semi-incorporeal and didn’t take up that much space. 

Pidge and Matt spent a lot of time doing things with Keith. Pidge was mostly just observing and studying, finding his limits and what ghosts could or could not do. Matt was more concerned with why Keith was a ghost; why he couldn’t move on, and trying to get him there.

Hunk and Lance mostly stayed out of their way, though Lance was roped in every so often since he was the only one who could see or hear their test subject without assistance. They still hadn’t figured out why that was.

One day they were all crammed into Lance’s living room, while Matt and Pidge tested out a Ouija board on Keith. Keith, of course, thought this was equal parts stupid and hilarious, and spelled out awful things for them to decipher. Right in the middle of their fun, someone knocked on the door. A very confused Lance went to answer it.

_ I only have so many friends, and most of them are here, so… _

He nearly dropped dead with surprise when he saw Shiro standing on what amounted to a front step.

“Hey, Lance.” he said shyly, his white bangs flopping into his eyes. “I finally found some free time and figured I’d stop by.”

Somehow, Lance maintained his composure.

“Sure, yeah, come on in. Join the party.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at that, but his unspoken question was answered when he walked in and saw everyone in the living room, clustered around the board. 

“Wow guys.” he said with a chuckle. “Messing with a Ouija board? What are we, twelve?”

Matt plastered a smile on his face, Pidge opened her mouth; all of them were prepared to lie, unsure of what Shiro’s reaction would be like. But they never had the chance, because the planchette started vibrating and then threw itself off the board.

Lance only had to take a single look at Keith’s face to know he hadn’t done it on purpose. The expression on his face was reminiscent of the one he’d had when he saw Matt for the first time, but multiplied by 100. 

Shiro’s smile faltered for a second. 

“Practicing party tricks?” he said. It was obvious he was unnerved.

“Shiro.” Keith’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He got to his feet, walked right through the board and consequently through Hunk, who shivered violently. 

“Shiro.” He said again, louder. Pidge and Matt were talking, starting an easy conversation with Shiro, trying to distract him. Lance kept his gaze fixed on Keith, uncaring that he looked like he was staring at nothing. 

Keith was circling Shiro, trying to get his attention, getting more desperate by the second as Shiro looked through him and carried on his conversation with the Holts. 

“Shiro, Shiro, it’s me, it’s Keith. Can you hear me?” He knew he couldn’t, but he was trying anyway. Lance could feel the storm brewing. “Shiro, please, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, please just look at me, anything, please.”

But Shiro couldn’t hear him.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Keith reached out for him; his hand went through Shiro’s shoulder and he shivered. He tried again, and again, until Shiro looked over at Lance and asked him why his AC was up so high. Keith’s face crumbled like he was about to cry. 

“Please, just look, please.” He wasn’t looking. Even if Keith stood right in front of him, his eyes went over his head. “Shiro. Shiro!”

Lance glanced anxiously over his shoulder at Hunk, who raised an eyebrow at him. Of course no one else could tell Keith was on the verge of a breakdown, one Lance couldn’t do anything about with Shiro standing right there. 

“ _ Takashi! _ ”

Ok, everybody definitely heard that one. Especially Shiro, who jumped about a foot in the air, went ten shades paler, and fled the apartment, all in two seconds flat. The door slammed shut behind him. 

Keith stood there for a moment, staring at the door looking utterly bereft. Then he flickered like a lightbulb going out and vanished into thin air. 

“So… that could have gone better.” muttered Pidge.

“Where’s Keith?” asked Matt.

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know, he vanished.”

“Great, the ghost is MIA.” That cheerful comment was from Hunk.

Lance let out a sigh, and felt like it came from the very depths of his exceedingly tired soul.

* * *

It was hours before he saw Keith again. But apparently he’d just been looking in the wrong place, because around 8 pm he wandered into the bathroom and nearly leapt out of his skin when he caught sight of the ghost sitting grumpily in the fucking bathtub.

“Jesus, dude.” he said, maybe a bit snappily. Keith didn’t look at him.

“Sorry.” he muttered, and his voice cracked. 

_ Great, now I feel like a dick. _

“Why are you in the bathtub?”

Keith curled his arms tighter around his knees. “When I get too upset I get zapped back to where I died. Like a yo-yo.”

“And you died in the bathtub?”

“Clearly.” The answer was meant to be snarky, but it lost its bite when Keith sniffled right after. 

“So… you know Shiro?”

Keith nodded miserably. 

“He-- he was my best friend. When I was alive.”  

Lance sat down on the floor beside the tub and gave Keith an expectant look. He avoided the other boy’s eyes, but kept talking anyway.

“We were friends since we were five. And when the rest of my life went to shit, he was the only one who was there for me. Who could see something in me besides destruction.” He sniffled again and fell silent. Lance wasn’t having it. He’d lived with this guys ghost for almost half a year, it was about time he found out the whole story.

“Keith, how did you die?”

Keith didn’t flinch back at the question. He’d been expecting it. 

“I had depression.” he mumbled, clenching his hands into fists against his legs. “One night it was too much, and I…” he twitched, uncoiled a bit to look down at his arms. Lance’s stomach twisted. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean to, didn’t plan it, but…”

He slowly pushed up his jacket sleeves, and Lance nearly swallowed his tongue. Where there should have been pale white skin were what looked like dozens of red cuts, gouging and slashing and in some places revealing bone. He wanted to be sick, felt it pushing against his throat, but swallowed it back for Keith’s sake.

Suddenly, his blood-in-the-bathtub trick made a lot more sense.

“Shiro was the one that found me.” His voice had gone dull, like he was in a trance, not really thinking about what he was saying anymore. “He tried to help but I was already gone. Well, not gone. I was still here. I just had to sit and watch while he tried to save me and fell apart when he failed.” 

Thankfully for Lance, he rolled his sleeves back down. But he wasn’t done talking yet.

“I regret it. I regret killing myself, I regret that Shiro had to be the one to find me, I regret hurting him. I wish I’d never done it, that I’d been stronger. But I guess it’s too late for that now.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” said Lance, softly, softly. “We have that whiteboard for a reason.”

Keith shook his head. “No. What I did-- I can’t be forgiven, I know that. Matt said Shiro was happy now. I can live with that.” he winced at his own choice of words and tried again. “I mean, I can exist with that, I guess.”

_ Like hell _ , Lance thought. But on the outside, he played along for now. 

“If that’s what you want.”

Keith nodded, though hesitantly.

“Alright. Now can you get out of the bathtub? I wanna shower.”

Keith stuck his tongue out at him.

* * *

“I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“I heard him.”

“So did I.”

“That can’t be possible.”

“I think it is.”

“It can’t be him.”

“I think it is him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“You should go back.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What if I hear him again?”

“What about it?”

“What if I’m actually crazy?”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“I believe it’s him. And I think he wants to talk to you.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Christ.”

“One more time. Just go back one more time.”

“Fine.”

* * *

It had taken a week and a lot of persuasion, but eventually the group managed to convince both Shiro and Keith that they should try talking again. According to Matt, Shiro was still skeptical that Keith even existed and was seriously considering the idea that he might be mentally unhealthy. Keith was wracked with awful anxiety, gearing himself up for Shiro to yell and scream and reject him. In Lance’s professional opinion, he was overreacting, but in typical Keith style he wouldn’t listen. 

Lance was waiting with him in the living room at the appointed hour, Keith holding his whiteboard in his lap. He nervously twirled his red marker between his fingers and over his knuckles in a continuous pattern while they waited for the knock that came only a few minutes later. 

Matt walked in behind Shiro, a steadying presence for him since he looked like a frightened rabbit about to bolt. Keith stood on shaky legs, and Shiro’s eyes widened. 

But they weren’t looking at the floating board.

They were looking at Keith’s face.

“Keith?” he breathed. And much like when he’d first appeared to Lance, Keith looked around himself before daring to acknowledge what Shiro had said.

“Can you see me, Shiro?”

“Yes.”

Lance and Matt exchanged a confused look, and Lance shrugged. 

_ All is fair in supernatural bullshit, I guess.  _

For a long moment they just looked at each other. Shiro’s eyes were shining like he was about to cry, Keith was biting his lip. Then he broke, and rushed at Shiro, and Lance braced himself for the inevitable run-through-and-disappointment. But this time, he didn’t go through. He ran into Shiro’s chest, and Shiro wrapped his arms around Keith’s shoulders, and he didn’t phase through him.

“Supernatural bullshit.” Lance hissed. 

“I’m sorry.” Keith was openly sobbing, not even trying to hide it. “I’m so sorry, Shiro. I didn’t mean to die, I didn’t mean to do that to you, I’m so sorry.”

Shiro let out a choking laugh while he ran his fingers through Keith’s hair. 

“It’s ok.” He was crying too. “It’s ok, it’s ok, Jesus, I’m just so happy to see you again.”

“It’s not ok. You can’t forgive me for this. I know you can’t. But I--”

“Keith.” Shiro pulled back, just enough to look him in the eye. “Hey, listen to me. I forgave you a long time ago.”

Keith could barely manage to choke out Shiro’s name again before breaking down completely. Shiro held him and cried with him, and Lance and Matt stood awkwardly to the side. 

“I forgive you.” Shiro was murmuring. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Ok, he had to admit it. This whole scene was making Lance emotional too. In fact, he was so distracted by his ensuing emotions that it took him several seconds to realize that Keith was glowing. Not in the metaphorical sense, either.

“Uh, Keith?” Shiro asked, blinking at him rapidly. A bright white light was filling up his transparent body, engulfing him and making him look solid for the first time since Lance has known him. But Keith didn’t look alarmed. In fact, he looked practically euphoric.

“Thank you, Takashi.” he said, giving Shiro a genuine grin. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The light flared brightly, so brightly Lance had to throw an arm over his eyes to keep from going blind. When it faded, and it was finally safe to look again, the space in front of Shiro was empty, a whiteboard laying forgotten at his feet.

Keith was gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I want to give my thanks to my irl friends Rowan and Tabitha. They take the time out of their busy lives to beta all the crazy amounts of writing I chuck at them and draw me things and help me figure my stories out and I couldn't be more grateful. You can find Rowan's writing on FFN at Lyall Grimm, and her art on tumblr at lyallgrimm.tumblr.com.


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